


A Perfect World

by DarthNickels



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Dark, Gen, Self-Harm, Time Travel, Unhappy Ending, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-23
Updated: 2015-01-16
Packaged: 2018-03-03 01:24:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2833034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarthNickels/pseuds/DarthNickels
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Palpatine is dead, and the Republic never falls, but something much worse has happened to Anakin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Padme should have known something was wrong from the minute she woke up. She remembered opening her eyes and seeing Anakin, just….watching her in the cold pre-dawn light. That in and of itself wasn’t unusual, but there was something- _off_ in his gaze. Something _manic_.

“You’re up early, love,” she whispered, reaching to rub the grit from her eyes. Anakin stopped her, wrapping his hand around her wrist.

He touch was so cold…

“Go back to sleep,” he whispered. “Don’t go out today. I’ll be back for you.” Then, he smiled, and something in it made Padme’s blood run cold, “I’m going to take care of you.”

“Anakin, what—“ but before she could protest, he leaned in and kissed her forehead, and all she knew was darkness.

* * *

 

Obi-Wan nearly fell out of the elevator in his scramble to get to the Chancellor’s office. _This—this may well be the end,_ he thought. The end of the war, of the Republic—he shook his head, trying to project an air of calm. His face was still starkly pale.

He was met in the sumptuous office by Master Windu and Master Yoda, both looking more somber than he’d ever seen them. Behind them, neatly cordoned off with bright yellow tape, was a headless body.

 _The former Chancellor_ , Obi-Wan thought. He’d been at war for the past three years, he’d seen things much more gruesome than one body, but there was something viscerally disturbing about the scene before him. The stump had since stopped oozing blood into the crimson pool surrounding the body, but the wound was--- _ragged_ , almost foreign in a world of neatly cauterized lightsaber cuts.

“Kenobi”, Mace called, gently bringing him out of his ruminations. The Jedi Master’s face was drawn, his eyes hard. Yoda, despite being ancient, had never looked so old.

“…How?” Obi-Wan croaked. How had this happened? How could they fix this? How was the Republic supposed to go forward?

“The perpetrator—“ Mace paused, an unreadable expression passing over his face, “-was well known to the Chancellor. We believe he struck before Palpatine even knew what was happening.”

 _Well known to the Chancellor_. The words rattled in Obi-Wan’s head, clashing into each other—

“I wasn’t—“ Obi-Wan’ s throat was so dry, he could hardly speak. “I wasn’t able to raise Anakin on my comm.”

The silence that stretched between the three of them felt like an eternity. Obi-Wan felt a rising wave of panic sweep through him, but he crushed it mercilessly. Outwardly, he curled his hand into a fist.

“Truly sorry we are, Master Kenobi,” Yoda said, quietly. Obi-Wan wondered if he was going insane.

“But…but _why_?” he asked, fighting to keep his voice level. “You said yourself that Anakin was dangerously close to the Chancellor!”

Yoda shook his head, “Know why, we do not. Contacted the Chancellor just hours ago, Skywalker did, requesting a meeting. When he arrived—“ the Grand Master was best known for his (lack of) height, but never until today had he looked fragile.

“Anakin had his lightsaber,” Mace finished quietly, “but he chose instead—he chose to decapitate the Chancellor with his own two hands.”

Now Obi-Wan truly thought he would vomit. What had happened? Only days ago Anakin was hotly defending the Chancellor’s politics, and now—tearing—

“Were you able to take him into custody?” Obi-Wan asked, cautiously. He knew Anakin wasn’t dead. _That_ would have been too much for one man to bear.

Mace nodded, but hesitated. “Obi-Wan…” he turned Yoda, and the two of them shared a long look.

“This carpet has a web of sensors,” Mace went on. Obi-Wan blinked, utterly baffled by this sudden segue. “They alert a cleaning droid the instant there’s any kind of spill. One was summoned, then, when Palpatine’s corpse began to bleed.” Mace pointed to the crumpled form of the droid, rent almost in half by some great force. “Anakin broke the droid open, and inside—they carry an industrial-strength cleaning solution—“

Obi-Wan wanted to put his hands over his ears, to block out what was coming next. Even Mace, infamously stoic, looked disturbed.

“—and he drank it.”

Mace hesitated, then lay a comforting hand on Obi-Wan’s shoulder; but by then Obi-Wan could feel nothing but a creeping numbness in his heart.

* * *

 

Obi-Wan ran his hands through his hair, still feeling helpless hours later. His former padawan (his best friend, his brother…) lay motionless before him on the Healer’s bed. He was thoroughly restrained, but that didn’t seem necessary—there was no way Anakin could go anywhere. His lips were parted slightly, to allow for a number of tubes carrying bacta and who-knows-what-else to snake down his esophagus. The area around his mouth—especially his chin—was covered in chemical burns which ran down his neck to his chest.

 _He may have tried to spit it out_ , one of the Healers had explained to him. _But given how much ended up in his stomach, they may have been a reflex instead of second thoughts…_

Obi-Wan had asked to be left alone after that. The image of Anakin, choking and in pain but still resolutely trying to---

No. It wasn’t an image he could bear right now.

Without thinking, he laid a hand against Anakin’s cheek. It felt so cold beneath his hand…

 _My poor padawan_ , he thought. Somehow, what Anakin had done was so enormous, so _monstrous_ that it didn’t even seem real to him. All he saw was the boy he’d raised, looking so drawn and sad—

 _M…as…ter_?

Obi-Wan jumped, totally taken aback. Anakin’s eyes fluttered, and he tried to turn, only to be stopped by the restraints. He mouth worked, but he could only make a few strained gasps around all the tubing in his throat.

“Don’t try to talk,” Obi-Wan admonished, automatically. With the sheer amount of sedatives pumping into Anakin, it should have been impossible for the boy to wake up.

 _Master_ , Anakin repeated, this time almost _purring_ in Obi-Wan’s head. _You were worried? Worried about me?_

“I—of course I was,” Obi-Wan replied, still barely processing what was happening. “Anakin, you—“

 _So good. Warm. I’m happy_. The half-words, half-ideas floated lazily over Obi-Wan’s conscious. Drugged or not, there was something… _wrong_ with Anakin. Obi-Wan felt the hairs stand up on the back of his neck.

“What happened?” he asked, his voice shaking. “Do you…realize what you’ve done?”

Confusion. Mild irritation. If Anakin could have, he might have pouted. _The Emperor. Bad. Hurt me. Hate him. Gone now_. Now Anakin radiated smug self-satisfaction. _Fixed it. Aren’t I good_?

Obi-Wan didn’t know what to say to that. What did Anakin mean by ‘the Emperor’? What had happened to his padawan in the span of twelve hours to— _degrade_ him so utterly?

 _Master_ , Anakin sent the word like a sharp poke to his mind. _Fixed it. Proud_? From the table, Anakin looked up at him with expectant, adoring eyes. _Good_?

The Force flared in warning, forcing Obi-Wan to bite back his displeasure at Anakin’s actions, lest the situation get out of hand—though how it _could_ get worse, he didn’t know. “Of course I’m proud of you,” he said, softly. Anakin replied with almost blinding happiness.

 _Good, good, good, good_ , he sang, then tried to pull his hand up, only to be stopped by the restraints. Anakin shifted, displeased once again.

“Don’t,” Obi-Wan ordered. Anakin gave him a look of mixed disbelief and derision. “You’re in the Healer’s Wing. Don’t you…remember?”

_Remember. Obviously! No more Palpatine._

“But then,” Obi-Wan’s voice cracked, “but then you…why, Anakin? Why would you hurt yourself?”

Anakin’s presence dimmed and he shrunk back, almost childlike. _Emperor: gone. But…felt it. Where he touched me. Still dirty. Wanted to feel_ clean _inside._

Obi-Wan felt like a giant hand was squeezing his chest, making it impossible to breathe. He thought his heart would never stop breaking, that it would be ground entirely to dust between two enormous millstones. He knelt down by Anakin’s bed, stroking his padawan’s hair letting the emotions he’d kept locked behind shields rage around them.

 _Sorry! Sorry sorry sorry sorry_ —Anakin, clearly taken aback, mimicked Obi-Wan’s earlier gesture and laid a hand against his master’s cheek. _Won’t do it again. Don’t cry. Sorry._

“Don’t,” Obi-Wan whispered, “don’t _ever_ —“ Obi-Wan stopped.

Why wasn’t Anakin’s hand restrained?

 _Promise. Not again_. With that, Anakin touched the restrain on his other arm—

\--and to Obi-Wan’s disbelief, it began to _melt_.

Spellbound, he could do nothing but watch as each other Anakin’s restraints dissolved away into nothing. Anakin sat up, pulled the tubes from his mouth with a series of truly awful sounds before they too disappeared into the ether. His fingers brushed the ruined bottom section of his face, and he flinched. Then, resolutely, he covered his entire lower jaw with his hand. When he pulled it away, the skin was whole and unbroken.

Obi-Wan could only stare.

Anakin grinned, nonplussed his master’s shock. “Didn’t I tell you?” he said, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. “I fixed it. I can fix _anything_ , now.”  

Those words made Obi-Wan’s blood run cold. “Anakin,” he said, with false bravado, “you have to stay here. The Council—“

Anakin cut him off with a rude noise. “I don’t _want_ to stay here. I definitely don’t want to see the Council.”

“But want to see you, the Council does,” a gravelly voice answered from the doorway. Anakin and Obi-Wan turned, to find the remaining Council members—Yoda, Mace, and a few others—gathered there.

“Who cares?” Anakin asked, sounding bored. Obi-Wan’s heart couldn’t take any more shock today. How was this even happening? “Obi-Wan and I are going to go start our new lives. We’re not going to see you anymore.”

Their new what now?

“You can’t seriously believe we’re going to let you just walk out of here,” Mace replied, folding his arms across his chest.

“You should,” Anakin shot back. Obi-Wan could feel a ripple of unease travel through the Council members. Anakin had always been disrespectful, but never… _malicious_. The sense of danger rolled off him in waves.

“Anakin,” he said, trying to bring the boy under control. “You—killed the Chancellor. We’re going to need some answers from you.”

Again, Anakin snorted. “I told you. He hurt me. He was _bad_ , and I’m _good_ now.” Anakin looked out at the crowd of blank, disbelieving faces, and something seemed to click for him. “You didn’t _know_ ,” he said, smirking again. Anakin looked around the room, taking in the expression on each esteemed Council Member’s face.

“Palpatine was the Sith Lord.”

He may as well have set off a bomb in the assembled crowd. Some of the masters cried out in protest, while others looked stunned. None of them, though, could sense any deception from Anakin.

“Kenobi,” Mace’s voice cut through the confusion. “Your padawan is delusional. Why isn’t he restrained?”

Obi-Wan started to answer, but his words died in his throat. The darkness emanating from Anakin was suffocating. He’d never felt anything like it. Anakin’s face was twisted in a rictus of pure malice.

“I _hate_ you,” Anakin snarled. “You’ve _never_ been nice to me.”

What Mace had to say to _that_ , they would never know. He opened his mouth, but then looked down at his hand—

\--which was crumbling away to dust.

All of them stood, transfixed in horror, as some unknown force ate away at the Jedi Master, the dust blown by some invisible wind until it too vanished. Within moments, it was as if Mace had never existed at all.

Anakin smirked. Obi-Wan had never seen him look so cruel.

“Come on, Master,” he said, walking directly into the remaining Jedi. They parted before him, still stunned by the horrific thing they’d just witnessed.

“We’re going to go see Padme now,” he called over his shoulder. Then he laughed—a sound that was both cruel but somehow childish at the same time. “Don’t try and stop me!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you are an impressionable teenager: do NOT drink bleach. DO NOT drink bleach. If you feel like doing that, talk to someone-- you can even shoot me a message, and I'll do my best to get back to you


	2. Chapter 2

Obi-Wan spent the speeder ride to Senator Amidala’s apartment in a state of numb disbelief. He could feel panic licking at the edge of his shock, and knew he couldn’t succumb.

But—this was all so _surreal_. What was going on? What had happened to Anakin? Obi-Wan glanced over, casually. Physically, Anakin looked exactly the same as he had just hours before the Chancellor’s murder. But in the Force—

Anakin’s mind was like a seething, primordial ocean. Half-finished fragments of thoughts roiled and collided with each other, before sinking back beneath the waves. Anakin—Anakin was _dangerous_. Something had removed all restraints on both his actions and his power.

“What are you looking at, Master?” Anakin’s voice cut through his reverie. There was a cold, flat edge to his words.

Obi-Wan knew he was on thin ice, but he’d never been a coward. “You seem…different,” he ventured. If Anakin used his terrible new power to dissolve him in a fit of pique, then so be it. Maybe it would be easier.

Instead Anakin turned to him, smiling brilliantly. “Of course I am! I’m _better_ ,” he retorted, pulling the speeder down onto the landing platform. Obi-Wan’s door popped open, and Anakin offered his hand in some twisted parody of gallantry.

“Now I really _am_ the most powerful Jedi ever.”

Obi-Wan allowed himself to be led by the hand into Senator Amidala’s darkened apartment. He didn’t even protest as Anakin dragged him straight into the senator’s bedchambers, wildly inappropriate though it was. Obi-Wan meant to avert his gaze out of respect for Padme’s modesty, but his eyes settled on her massively swollen belly and at least a few pieces of the puzzle slid into place. Anakin, his stubborn attachment to the senator, his sudden withdrawal, the dark shadows under his eyes and worry creases across his forehead…

But even that couldn’t have been enough to make him _snap_.

“Padme!” Anakin sang, “It’s finished, Padme! Time to wake up!”

Anakin shook her by the shoulder, but Padme’s head just lolled, boneless, against her chest.

“Padme? Padme?” Anakin shook her even more violently, sounding hysterical. Still, no response. “Padme, wake up! You aren’t supposed to _die_ this time—“ Anakin stopped, as suddenly as he began, and laughed with relief.

“I forgot!” Anakin chuckled.  “Sorry, Padme,” he leaned over and placed two fingers against her forehead. “I was too strong. _Now_ you can wake up.”

And just like that, Padme’s eyes began to flutter. Clearly disoriented, she accepted Anakin’s help in sitting up—only to start when she noticed the other Jedi master.

“Obi-Wan!” she cried, her hands flying not her neckline (dangerously askew), but instead to cover her belly. If he’d had less on his mind, Obi-Wan would have been deeply hurt by the implication.

“I mean, Master Kenobi…” she fumbled, pulling her covers towards her. She looked up, “Anakin, what is--?”

Anakin leaned over and kissed her on the top of her head. “We don’t have anything to hide anymore,” he said, adoringly. “Obi-Wan has probably figured it out by now.”

It wasn’t befitting a Jedi Master, but Obi-Wan was glad Padme looked as confused and frightened as he felt.

“Obi-Wan,” Anakin announced “Padme and I are married, and expecting two beautiful twins very soon.”

 Obi-Wan had, in fact, guessed the paternity of Amidala’s child (or children, it seemed). The marriage part seemed fairly insignificant, in light of Anakin’s larger transgressions, but it still stung.

_The_ lies _he’s been telling_ …

 “Padme”, he continued, turning back to his _wife_ , “You aren’t going to die. We’re going to Naboo and we’re all going to be _very happy_.” His words were firm, as if he were issuing an order to the Galaxy.

Padme’s intuition was good—almost as good as a Jedi’s. She paled, but gave no other sign at how disturbed she was by Anakin’s glad tidings.

“Slow down, love,” she said, resting a hand on his arm. “Why don’t you tell me what’s happened while I slept—“ she glanced at the chrono, and her eyebrows shot up, “—so late!” She threw aside her blankets, moving with all the haste a very, very pregnant petit woman could. Anakin held her back before she could heave herself out of bed.

“You aren’t going to work today.”

Padme shot a desperate look at Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan, still shell-shocked himself, could give her no guidance.

“There’s a very important vote, today, Anakin. I have to go—“

“There won’t be a vote,” Anakin told her. “There’s not going to be a war. Well, there might, but it won’t matter to us.”

Padme’s mask slipped slightly, but didn’t come close to revealing the fear Obi-Wan felt through the Force. He wondered, for a moment, if Padme had dreaded that something like this would come to pass—she was terribly frightened, but didn’t seem _surprised_.

“The Chancellor,” Obi-Wan was almost surprised by how hoarse he sounded, “the Chancellor is dead.” Anakin nodded, like that was some detail that had just slipped him mind.

“What?! How- I--  Anakin, if that’s true, then there will be _chaos_ in the Senate, there’s no way I can leave for Naboo…”

She trailed off, waiting for Anakin’s response. He smiled.

“It is true. Come here,” it would have been a touching scene, Anakin gently helping his wife out of bed and onto her feet, if not for the warning screaming through the Force. He gestured, and the shades shot up, flooding the penthouse with brilliant sunshine. “Let’s go to the window. You too, Obi-Wan!”

With mounting trepidation, Obi-Wan joined the couple, looking out over the impressive skyline of Coruscant.

“There,” Anakin jabbed his finger against the transparisteel, “that’s the Senate. Is this what’s troubling you?” Padme didn’t have time to answer, before Anakin rubbed the window vigorously, like he was wiping away a smudge---

And the Senate was _gone_.

Obi-Wan heard Padme’s sharp gasp, but didn’t have time to react before he was bowled over by a shriek in the Force. Every being who had been in the Senate that moment was gone. The Force howled at the sudden loss, the sudden vaccum where there had been _life_. The three of them stood there in silence for what seemed like an age, Padme stunned, Obi-Wan reeling, and Anakin smug.

“H-how did you do that?” Padme asked. Her voice shook, but she didn’t scream. Obi-Wan felt like screaming, he was sure she did as well. “What’s…happened to the Senate, Ani?”

“It’s gone,” Anakin replied patiently, “everything that’s ever hurt us, everything that’s ever come between us is no match for me now.”

“But,” she started, transfixed, “that just isn’t possible…”

“My powers have grown beyond anything the Jedi could ever have dreamed.” Anakin almost preened. 

“That…that’s astounding,” she whispered. “But you’ll…put it back, won’t you?”

Anakin’s pleasure melted instantly. His face twisted. “Of course not. You aren’t beholden to them anymore.”

Padme’s jaw tightened, but she pressed on. “You have to put it back,” she told him, firmly. “People are depending on me, Anakin—on the Republic. We have to have a place to meet.”

_She didn’t know. She couldn’t feel what Anakin had wrought_ —

Anakin _snarled_. “This is gratitude?” he turned on his wife, face dark. “What I’ve done for you--”

“ _For_ me?” Padme asked, tilting her chin up, “Or so you could keep me all to yourself?”

The look Anakin shot her was murderous. Obi-Wan reached out to place a hand on Padme’s shoulder, but she pushed him away—this altercation had been brewing between them for some time now.

“The Galaxy doesn’t just stop for you, Anakin,” she started, jabbing a finger in his chest. Anakin caught her wrist in his hand, his eyes blazing. Obi-Wan stepped forward, ready to put himself in the path of Anakin’s bizarre new power to keep him for doing the one thing he’d never forgive himself for-

And found himself unable to take another.

The silence in the apartment was absolute. Obi-Wan glanced out the window, to see the endless streams of Coruscant traffic suspended in midair. Padme’s jaw was set tight, and the streams began to run backwards. With a sickening lurch, the planet itself began to run backwards, reversing on its axis as the sun slid back towards the morning horizon. Obi-Wan lurched, stomach roiling, but as suddenly as it began everything went forwards once again.

“Now,” Anakin announced quietly (but not without menace), “it does”.

Padme was renowned as a relentless advocate for lost causes, but still had a pragmatic streak. Though clearly unhappy, she didn’t press the issue.

“Good,” Anakin nodded, sagely. “Now, breakfast.” Obi-Wan must have looked aghast at his sudden nonchalance, because he added, “she’s eating for three.”

It was only when they’d gathered around the table, Obi-Wan gingerly sipping caf while Anakin laid a glass of water and an assortment of prenatal vitamins before Padme, that she struck. “Ani,” she asked, casually, “are we out of muja jam?”

Anakin frowned. “We are. Did you really eat it all? _Again_?”

Padme looked up through her lashes, the perfect image of demure, feminine embarrassment. “Please get more?”

The residual tension in Anakin’s face melted away as he smiled at his wife. “Of course,” he smiled, reaching for his cloak. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

Padme barely breathed as Anakin turned for his cloak. When the doors slid shut behind him, she nearly collapsed in her seat.

“Force of habit,” she breathed, not daring to believe her luck. “He didn’t even think to use his powers.” Padme didn’t indulge in her relief, instead turning back to Obi-Wan, eyes hard.

“What _happened_?!”

Obi-Wan’s mouth was dry. “I don’t--”

“Don’t tell me you don’t know,” Padme snapped. She had the same lines around her mouth and eyes as Anakin—the same as Obi-Wan, and all the human Jedi, really. He took a measured breath, willing his irritation away in the Force. Padme was struggling just as badly as he was, _and_ she was under considerable physical strain.

He still desperately wanted to snap back.

“When Anakin left the Temple last night, he was…” Obi-Wan ran a hand through his hair, “he _seemed_ normal.” Not well, no one touched by the war was doing _well_ , but Padme knew that better than most. “I was summoned to the Chancellor’s office at daybreak, where I learned of his death. I would assume Anakin spent the intervening time with _you_.”

The insinuation was cruel, and he knew it, but he didn’t care. Padme’s eyes blazed, but she didn’t rise to the bait.

“He did,” she bit out. “He never left my sight. We went to bed fairly early, and then-” she gestured, helplessly. “I remember he woke up early, before dawn, and….” She seemed to turn inward, caught in her memory.

"The way he looked at me…” she started, reluctantly, “he must have put me under, because I don’t remember anything afterwards, but-” she shook her head, “he looked feverish.” Padme couldn’t bring herself to describe what she’d seen in Anakin’s eyes—they were hollow, lit with a hungry light.

“Do you think he had another dream?” Obi-Wan asked. Padme’s head snapped up.

“You knew about the dreams?”

Obi-wan lowered his gaze. “He told me he was dreaming about his mother, he said, sighing, “and later, he told me those dreams _were_ prescient.” Padme clearly had something to say about that, her lips pressed in a firm line, but Obi-Wan’s failures as a master weren’t relevant to the crisis at hand and she let them be.

“None of this makes any sense,” she ground out, frustrated. “Anakin’s nightmares are bad, but not enough to make him--” she gestured.

“A murderer,” Obi-Wan finished, grimly. Padme looked pained at those words.

“ _He_ killed Palpatine. I hoped…” She shook her head. “ _Why_?”

“Anakin…thought he was the Sith Lord,” Padme’s hand flew to her mouth, but he pressed on, “Padme, whatever brought on Anakin’s madness- he’s _dangerous_ now. There’s no possible way to restrain him, with his new power he could…” Obi-Wan trailed off. They had both seen it, there truly was _no limit_ to what Anakin could do now.

“He could hurt you or your babies,” Obi-Wan finished.

Behind him, there was a clatter. Padme muffled a shriek and Obi-Wan’s blood ran cold.

Anakin stood in the doorway, his promised cargo thrown unceremoniously to the floor.

“Is that what you think?” he asked, deathly quiet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So now we know that Anakin really should NOT have godmod powers. Why he has them will be explained (hopefully adequately) in the last chapter


	3. Chapter 3

 No one answered him. Anakin slammed his fist into the wall, sending masonry flying.

“ _Is that what you think_?!” he roared, bearing down on his master and his wife. There was something dark and sick in the lines of Anakin’s face and the shadows beneath his eyes. “I want to give you everything and you—you still-” unable to articulate his grievances, Anakin instead picked up the nearest chair and smashed it against the floor.

“Anakin--!” Padme shouted, trying to reach her husband, but her words were wasted. Obi-Wan wondered if this was what it had been like to watch the _Invisible Hand_ crash to the ground: terrifying and utterly unstoppable.

“You _know_ ,” Anakin hissed, his face desperately close to Obi-Wan’s. “You saw it. You--! All of the things inside me that were bad are _gone_! They burned away! Everything inside me burned away, I had to burn and burn _again_ so I could be made whole and good—YOU SAW IT! YOU _WATCHED_!” Anakin was panting, drawing ragged, uneven breaths. His hair was damp with sweat, and beads trickled down his pale forehead, as if the sickness inside his mind was eroding his body as well.

“I can give you everything. I—you don’t want it,” Anakin’s voice broke, and in an instant the rage drained from his body, leaving him limp. “You don’t want _me_.”

The floor beneath them began to vibrate ominously. The furniture, the walls, the entire structure of 500 Republica began to shake, and Obi-Wan’s feet suddenly left the ground- there was a hideous wrenching noise as the walls were torn free from the floor and began to float upwards. Padme’s hair floated around her, long tresses wafting gently, and she would have looked like an ancient goddess if not for the terror on her face. Beyond them they could see every building on Coruscant being wrenched upwards, breaking into pieces as it was drawn inexorably towards a roiling, fiery sky.

“Anakin _please_ ,” Padme begged, reaching down to him. “Ana— _ahh_!” with a sudden cry of pain she clasped her hands over her stomach, her body curling mid-air to protect her lives inside her—

Obi-Wan found himself seated in his chair, the apartment whole and perfect as if nothing had happened. He was still reeling, close to vomiting from the whiplash of his return, but his heart froze when he saw Anakin draw near to Padme.

“I hurt the baby,” he whispered, reaching out for Padme’s distended belly before cringing away. “ _Again_. I said I wouldn’t. _So_ bad. Sorry,” Anakin wrapped his arms around his stomach, biting down hard on his lip—but he couldn’t hold back his tears. “Sorry. Sorry. Sorry.”

Obi-Wan stood, pushing his chair back as silently as he could. Padme looked up at him, warily, as he picked his way across the floor to Anakin. She was right to be concerned—he could just as easily send Anakin back into a violent breakdown rather than soothe him.

But he also knew neither of them could stand to see him this way.

“That’s very good, Padawan,” Obi-Wan ventured, his voice still hoarse. Anakin’s head snapped up, fixing Obi-Wan with a stare that belonged more on a wild animal than a person.

“That was a nice apology,” Obi-Wan went on, cautiously. “Padme and I are very glad you put us down.” Anakin drew close enough that Obi-Wan could see the red rim around his eyes.

“I’m very proud-“

He didn’t need to finish. Anakin grabbed him hard around the ribs, pulling his master into a bone-crushing embrace. Obi-Wan could feel Anakin’s mind desperately lapping at the edges of his own shields, a desperate hunger for _touch-close-warmth_. He’d seen starving men act more rationally when given food.

Anakin showed no sign of letting up, and Obi-Wan let instinct guide him. With one hand he gently smoothed Anakin’s hair, then moved to rub small circles into his padawan’s back. Though Anakin’s face was pressed against his tunic, Obi-Wan could still hear his breath hitch as his tears began to wind down. Slowly, but not without tenderness, Padme drew in close, placing her hands on Anakin’s shoulders and leaning in to give him soft kiss on the cheek. Anakin sagged against Obi-Wan, boneless like a puppet with its strings cut.

“Here,” Padme gestured, wrapping an arm around the small of Anakin’s back. They helped him to the couch (Obi-Wan bearing the weight, Padme saying soothing things), and soon they were arranged carefully between the pillows, to Anakin’s specifications—he laid his head against Obi-Wan’s shoulder, while Padme sat on his opposite side rubbing small circles on his thigh. 

“It could be like this forever,” Anakin murmured after a few moments’ silence, his eyes half-closed. “This never has to stop. I dreamed about us, here,” he said, pulling Padme in until her head rested in his lap. “ _This_ is what I _wanted_.”

 Obi-Wan couldn’t help but feel guilty as he looked over Anakin’s languid form. They’d been at war for so long, he’d forgotten how unnatural the tightness in Anakin’s shoulders and the rigidity in his posture was.  Had it been enough to—

_No_ , Obi-Wan thought to himself. Whatever had broken Anakin’s self-control, it wasn’t that—or at least, not his neglect alone.

“Master,” Anakin murmured. “Why aren’t you happy?”

“I am, Anakin,” Obi-Wan replied, just a little too quickly. “I’m very happy.”

“You’re happy to be here with me?” Anakin looked down at Padme.

Obi-Wan saw her mouth tighten, and she didn’t look up at Anakin. “We’re so grateful you brought us together,” she said.

Anakin relaxed further, his breath coming slow and even. “Then don’t think so hard,” he mumbled, closing his eyes. Within ten minutes he was fast asleep.

Slowly, with utmost caution, Padme began to extract herself from Anakin’s embrace. She laid his arm back against his side tenderly, but with a tremor in her hands that betrayed the strain of the past hour. She watched Anakin for a moment, something unreadable in her face.

She looked back up and met Obi-Wan’s gaze. “What will we do now?” she whispered.

He didn’t have an answer for that. He’d once said the Anakin was dangerous, and now he desperately wished to take those prophetic words back. They couldn’t _trust_ Anakin anymore, both his moral compass and control over his powers were capricious at best.

Obi-Wan looked down at the sleeping figure holding him like a lifeline, and wondered if he would have to kill Anakin to prevent more deaths. He was sick with himself for even thinking it, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t a possibility.

There was a sudden movement in the Force—a ripple of energy across the room, and Obi-Wan nearly jumped out of his skin when a voice spoke in his ear:

“But you won’t will you?”

 It was a testament to the day he’d had that the softly flowing figure before him was one of the more normal things he’d witnessed in the past hours. Padme gasped loudly, but slapped her hand over her mouth, shooting a terrified look down at her sleeping husband.

“I know you want answers,” the apparition continued, tucking his hands into his spectral robes, “You may ask, but only do so if you genuinely want to know.”

Obi-Wan’s temper flared. His world had ended today, he wasn’t a temple youngling that needed a master’s guidance.

“Who are you?” he bit out, and the figure only sighed. He seemed…almost resigned.

“Obi-Wan,” Padme whispered, in clear disbelief, isn’t that _you_?!” 

Obi-Wan jostled Anakin, but managed not to wake him as he started. Padme was right- the ghost before them was wracked with age and suffering, but undoubtedly wore the same face he knew so well.

“She’s right,” the figure--- _he?_ \- said, sadly. “I regret to tell you that I am your future.”

Obi-Wan looked from the softly glowing vision of his future to the man snoring gently beside him, man racing. “Yes, “his future self nodded. “Anakin is from that same future.”

“Then what _happened_?!” he demanded.

The old Jedi master was silent for a moment, looking pained. “You deserve the truth,” he said, finally. “Let me tell the story fully, before you ask any questions. It is…difficult, for me.” Obi-Wan and Padme waited, expectantly.

“Had your timeline not been disturbed,” he went on, “Anakin would have soon succumbed to the Chancellor’s—Darth Sidious’—temptation, and fallen to the Dark Side.” It wasn’t out of the question, given all that he had witnessed today, but Obi-Wan thought his heart would stop, that it would rot and die in his chest from all the pain he felt, imagining that betrayal. He glanced at Padme, whose hand was back over her mouth, holding back a similar cry of grief.

“Anakin lived as a slave to the Dark for over twenty years, broken in his body and his mind,” the ghost went on, the lines on his face somehow deeper than before. “He did terrible things. It…laying blame now, when it is both over and not yet come to pass is a pointless exercise, but-” he shook his head. “We were responsible.”

Obi-Wan nodded once. His mouth tasted like ash.

“Both you—me- and Senator Amidala met our deaths before Anakin could be saved,” the ghost went on, “it was Anakin’s children who brought him back. He died saving your son, the way he couldn’t save you,” he said, directly to Padme. She went white at his words, some greater realization dawning on her that Obi-Wan had no desire to share.

“And then…” the figure turned back to Obi-Wan, considering his words carefully. “Where do we go when we die?” he finally asked. “What do they tell you at the Temple?”

Now seemed like an inappropriate time for rhetorical questions (from a dead man, no less), but Obi-Wan wasn’t ready to argue. “We become one with the Force,” he said, hardly recognizing his own croaking voice. “Our individual selves become part of a greater whole.” It seemed like the wrong answer, given what he was witnessing, but the glowing man nodded.

“And?” his future self pressed, “What would happen if a spirit was not able to be subsumed? Could it be made to fit?” Neither Obi-Wan nor Padme could answer that. The other Obi-Wan sighed.

“Perhaps you are familiar with the somewhat vulgar idea of the Sith hells?”

Obi-Wan shut his eyes, willing all of this to just go away, to be an awful dream. He let out a slow breath, re-centering himself, before opening them again.

“Anakin didn’t need to be punished anymore,” his future self said, angrily. “He was _penitent_. But he- before we could stop him—“ The ghost shook his head.

“I don’t know what exactly Anakin endured, as part of the unmaking he thought he deserved, but by the time we were able to pull him out….if Anakin was broken before, then now he is _decimated_. He--”

“He isn’t the man we knew,” Obi-Wan supplied, quickly. His future self scoffed at that, his expression accusing.

“He _is_. He is your Anakin. You knew these things were inside him. We knew he needed something we couldn’t give, was damaged in ways we couldn’t just wish away.”

“But-” Padme cut in, “why can he now—do these things…?” The older Obi-Wan considered for a moment, choosing his words carefully.

“Anakin has always been different from the rest of us, in his relationship to the Force,” he began. “The Force doesn’t just flow through Anakin- he creates it, he is part of it to a greater extent than any other living being—perhaps any being, ever. When Anakin was freed from his—trial, he wanted…” though he was dead, the ghost swallowed hard.

“He wanted to go back to a place that made him feel…safe. He wanted all those things he’d always wanted, and now, freed from any physical limitations, he found he could make them. You—this world...” He hesitated, but pressed on. “What was done can’t be undone. But Anakin- Anakin found he could _pull_ on what was real, make a splinter-- a parallel world that he could shape just the way he wanted. _This_ is Anakin’s world. He—“ the specter’s voice was thick with unshed tears, “he can make it just he way he wants, now.”

Obi-Wan looked back down and almost started when he saw Anakin’s eyes were open, glaring balefully at the Obi-Wan he had known in another time.

“That’s right,” he said, almost defiantly. “This place is mine. Everything in it is _mine_. I deserve this,” he straightened, finally unwrapping himself from Obi-Wan.

“All the bad things inside me had to be burned away so I could be loved again.” Obi-Wan remembered the word _unmaking_ and his throat constricted.

“Do you think your wife and master love you right now?” the older man chided. Anakin’s face twisted into an ugly expression, and Obi-Wan felt his heart race. “You aren’t loving them. They are _afraid_ of you, of what you’ve done.”

Fury rolled off Anakin in waves, each one burning hotter than the last. He surged to his feet, standing almost nose-to-nose with his former master. “You don’t know _anything_ , you stupid old man,” he hissed. “I’m going to make everything perfect, fix every wrong--”

“No matter how many people you have to destroy?” the other Obi-Wan asked, coolly. Anakin bit back a frustrated scream.

“Why shouldn’t I be the one to decide if they die? You said I was the Chosen One! You said it was my duty to make it right, and I will! Padme and Obi-Wan said I was good, they’re _happy_ that I’m finally in control-” Anakin turned back to his wife and master, expectant, but he saw how pale and grim Padme looked, and the naked pity on Obi-Wan’s face. Fury blazed in his eyes, and his chest heaved like a bellows.

“ _Fine_ ,” he breathed, “that is…just… _fine_. I don’t need you! I can have anyone I want come back to me now! Ahsoka, or Qui-Gon, or Momma…” the air around Anakin began to ripple and twist, like a mirage, before three figures materialized, all staring at their creator with blank eyes.

The bottom fell out of Obi-Wan’s stomach, as the floor beneath him tilted crazily—as the planet beneath them fell out of alignment, tumbling over and over as it fell out of orbit and down—

With a snap, the world was right again, with only Obi-Wan’s nausea to show for it. Anakin was pale now, sweat beaded on his brow, and his breath sounded more ragged, as if he were physically exhausted.

“We’re…alright,” he panted. “Aren’t we?” the thing that looked like Ahsoka looked up at Anakin through her long lashes, before making a move that resembled a nod (but just wasn’t right).

“Anakin, please stop this,” the other Obi-Wan begged. “No one can make a life, not even you. You have to--”

“They’re ALIVE!” Anakin screamed at him. “I have that power now! _I make worlds_! Nothing I love will ever die! My touch is _life_ and not--”

“You made a flesh doll, Anakin, even a _droid_ would--”

“Shut up! Shut up! I _hate_ \--”

“Stop!” Padme cried. She pushed herself onto her feet, a little unsteady and clutching her stomach. Anakin was at her side in an instant, taking her arm and proving balance.

“Ani,” she said, “you have to stop.” Before Anakin could reply, she laid a gentle hand on his arm. “You’re scaring us,” she whispered. “I _am_ afraid you’ll hurt our babies.”

The grief on Anakin’s face was so raw, Obi-Wan wanted to look away. He couldn’t, he owed it to his brother to witness this. “I did this for,” Anakin whispered. “I did it for us—the twins, all of us!”

“But we don’t want it, Anakin,” Padme said, putting her hand against his cheek. “Not like this.” Anakin shut his eyes, squeezing out tears, and Padme brushed them aside with her thumb. “You need a chance to get better,” she told him, sounding close to tears herself.

Anakin looked over at his master, hoping for something different. Obi-Wan just shook his head. “This isn’t right, Anakin,” he said, “we can’t love you if you’re going to try and rule us with your power.” He’d never seen his padawan look so miserable, so _defeated_ before.

“You know you couldn’t hold onto this world, even if you wanted to,” the future Jedi Master said, gravely. “You can feel it, can’t you? The strength you’re using to maintain this place…its tearing at the balance of the Force itself.” Obi-Wan thought he could hear it, a kind of strain the bones of the planet beneath them. “You’re tearing at the fabric at our universe. How many people have to die for your selfish wish, Anakin?”

“Why can’t I be selfish?” Anakin asked, but his heart wasn’t in it. He was just a shadow of the man Obi-Wan had known only a day before. “I just want…” The glowing figure moved towards him, cautiously, at first, then laid a hand on Anakin’s shoulder.

“Let them go,” he said, simply. “If you really do love them, you will.”

“Perhaps,” Padme volunteered, with a barely-contained hope that made Obi-Wan’s heart constrict, “We can make things different for you, back in our world--”

“No,” his future self cut in, harshly. “What happened cannot be changed. You may rejoin your other selves, but your memories of your time here will be lost. It’s more likely you will vanish along with this world. In either way, it will be as if you never were.”

The silence that rang out after that announcement was deafening. Grief won over fear on Padme’s face, as she placed a hand over her stomach—her babies who never even had a chance to live in this world, and never would. Given the events that transpired today, Obi-Wan was almost numb to his own fear—his anger at Anakin for creating them only to have them be utterly destroyed. There was nothing anyone could do, rage wouldn’t help them now. Nothing, could help them—just like no one could save Anakin.

Anakin was weeping softly, his half-muffled sob the only sound in the apartment now. Padme closed her eyes, gathering strength, and then reached up on her tip-toes to kiss him on the cheek.

“Goodbye, Ani,” she said, fighting to keep her voice even. “I love you.”

He cried harder as Obi-Wan joined them, placing his own kiss on Anakin’s forehead. “Goodbye, my Padawan,” he said. Why had he never told him this earlier? It was too late for regrets now.  Too late for anything. “I love you, too.”

“Let’s go now,” the other Obi-Wan said, looking even more ancient than before. “It’s over now, Anakin.”

It was more gentle than he had expected, colors muting and shapes folding in on themselves before winking out of existence. “I’m sorry,” he heard Anakin’s voice in his ear. “I’m just so sorry.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> A darker take on Anakin receiving a second chance through time travel (which I LOVE on its own, so I...don't know where this came from). What exactly is going on will be explained soon.


End file.
